It was cold out today, the bitter air stinging his nose with every inhale. He had his eyes cracked open to watch his savior, the woman named Olive. He knew she was pregnant, and that they were his. He also had guessed of Oxsana's health, which was now non-existent. He tried to keep his space from her, to be stubborn and refuse her company except when being treated medically but today was a day he needed to be honest.
if the children were his and he had indeed became mated to this woman then he had a duty. Giving a resigned sigh he stood up and moved over to her, laying down a mere inches from her body. "
I don't remember you, but that is no excuse to abandon you and my children. I know we are mated, it's easy to see in your pain. Hopefully I will remember someday, but even if I don't I will never leave you.."" the last few words were hauntingly close to the same promise he had swore only a few days ago.
He pulled closer though he was uncomfortable and lay his head on her back "
it is too cold to be alone, let me lay with you?" He asked. It was not out of love but out of duty and a faint familiarity that he asked to cuddle with her.
:'( I'm dying inside
Dakarai was a serious man; that never seemed to change with the loss of his memory. Granted, he did have a lot of grave experiences within a short amount of time. He was injured from the hooven beast, forced to relive the death of his first mate and first children had this stranger and her unborn pups forced upon them. Their experiences of his fugue state were much, much different but the effect was much to same: two sullen wolves, stripped of everything good they had ever known. Right then, they were not good company.
The brute came and found her, his touch was still comforting. Dakarai felt the same beside her and when Olive closed her eyes, it was easy to pretend that he was still her husband. Still in love with her. That their life together would still be magical and transcendent and beautiful. And when Dakarai sidled on up to her in the name of wamth, Olive did just that. She let her eyes slip closed and she pressed up against the warrior, listening to his words. He would stay, he would help to raise their children. For that, Olive was appreciative – but for how long would he concede to such a fate? Men held all the power in these types of situations, as only their seed was truly necessary for reproduction. She would carry these living things for nine weeks: the pups couldn’t survive without her womb, her milk, her love. It would be so easy for him to leave, but Olive never, ever could.
Olive sat in self-imposed blindness, nodding along to her mate’s confessions. But then a toneless whine tickled the feathering of her hear and her alert eyes shot open, falling upon a rather nervous looking sheepdog. The shrouded fae raised to her feet almost immediately – this was the first time they had seen another since the accident, and this woman was familiar to Olive. “You – You were with Doe and Szymon.” The ash-and-cream woman stated rather plainly. Olive knew this woman preferred to stay silent, so there was no need to beat around the bush. “We need help.” Olive stated plainly. “He’s hurt,” she began, sweeping her head gently to gesture at Dakarai’s head wound. Olive was oblivious to whether or not their atramentous cohort had any knowledge in healing, but Olive would have taken anything at that moment… even a kind ear to burden with her own woes and sorrows.
Dakarai's head lifted at the same time Olive's did, his ears perking forward at the monotone sound of a female's whine. His blue eyes landed on the black sheepdog, and he tilted his head to the side wondering what was up with her. He almost spoke out to her, when Olive stated that she recognized her from somewhere with two other people whose names he had never heard of. He was silent until she spoke of his injury, and he offered a small smile and tilted his head forward to show his injury.
At this point it was crusted over, but the lack of medicine and treatment had left it to get infected and it oozed in several places. Not only was the wound on his head bad, but he had a slightly swollen lump where the nasty Elk had kickedhim once more. "If you would look at it...it hurts rather badly" he pleaded.
small PP on Dakarai just to keep us movin' — let me know if I should change it, Chey :)
The fae watched intently as the strange sheepdog approached quite timidly, wrinkling her fine nose at Dakarai’s blight. Olive did not know if the stranger was any kind of healer, but the leviathan directed her as if she had some caretaking knowledge — Olive vividly remembered the ice encrusted berry and knew she trusted the shaky girl despite a looming sense uncertainty. Truly, Olive did not have the luxury of a choice and knew the star-crossed lovers were lucky to find such succor. Their world was full of and endless variety of life; yet the earth had felt so very vacant since their misfortune. Coelacanth was very welcome here.
After a moment’s examination, it was silently affirmed that, yes, Dakarai’s wound required further healing and that the small, onyx lady was the one to do it.
The pale sylph made to move towards Dakarai but was caught in a foreign, yet dainty embrace. The tenderness of the touch immediately drew Olive in and the two stood there for a sweet moment, Olive pressing her feathered neck and décolletage into Coelacanth’s dark furred shoulder; and being reminded of the comfort Dakarai’s dark embrace once gave her [albeit this one was much smaller and distinctly feminine]. The caress concluded and with an astute nod, Olive honed her focus on the dog’s lively [yet skillfull] pantomime. It was quite clear what she was expected to do, as Olive had implemented this treatment herself several times to stave off the wound’s persistent bleeding — but this was not a treatment in and of itself and she knew the snow was preparation for something else. This was where her healing skills failed and Olive was all too happy to yield to the girl’s direction, letting her take the reigns from her own ashen paws. With the instructions clearly laid out, Olive took a step towards the dark knight and motioned for him to lay down and place his crown against the permafrost [somehow, words felt so extraneous in that moment]. With that, milky paws scooped up the cool crystals and piled them, pressing it with her snout so that the ice layer flush against his skin. Olive’s pleading eyes flashed to the healer, imploring her to say she had done something right and that all would be remedied now.
The snow soothed his wound and he released a long breath, closing his eyes against the white coating on the ground as he lay still. He couldn't say he trusted Coelacanth because she was a stranger, but Olive seemed to place her faith within the black colored sheepdog so readily that he allowed himself to do the same. He had noticed that the woman was mute, and it interested him somewhat as well. A gentle swaying of his tail and an appreciative glance upward towaed Coelacanth, one that he hoped showed the timid woman he was immensely grateful and wouldn't hurt her.
Yep! I’m good to wrap it up with Chey’s post, or keep it going to for another round!
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Olive had done her part and now her hands-on assists were rendered useless as the sheepdog’s sharp mind went to work on her mate’s wound. Her careful and minute ministrations culled the injury of infection and surrendered the putrid flesh to the snow; though the nurse made quite a show of it, Olive’s distressed attention was focused solely on her dark knight, numbed but surely feeling the pain of such a medical procedure. Olive pressed her jaws together hotly, wishing she could take his pain and woes and endure them with her own body and spirit, as fate was cruel and Olive did not believe Dakarai deserved such hurt – not one bit. The sylph placed a single, slight paw on his shoulder as a silent act of solidarity. Words still felt too foreign for this moment.
When the procedure concluded and the girl carefully regarded her work, Olive was relieved. The worst was over. As instructed, Olive warmed the cold winter snow within her thin muzzle and drizzle it upon Dakarai’s wound, washing away blood both old and new. Olive continued at this for quite a while as their nurse slipped away into the underbrush, a low, ever present whine emanating from deep within her chest. Olive worried superfluously that Coelacanth would not return – but somewhere inside herself, Olive had faith that she would.
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